


The Daylight Seems To Want You (Just As Much As I Do)

by geckoholic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnspringfling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:39:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The sun falls through the slits of the drawn shutters, bathes the room in a faded yellow light and throws a striped pattern of light and shadow across everything in it.</em> - Sam/Dean, curtain fic of sorts, PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Daylight Seems To Want You (Just As Much As I Do)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rockstarpeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockstarpeach/gifts).



> Inspired by the prompt 'sleeping in'. 
> 
> Beta'd by the speedy and awesome sargraf. Thanks! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Title is from "Crack The Shutters" by Snow Patrol.

It's been three weeks since they signed the contract on the house. Three weeks filled with signing legal documents, laying parquet flooring, hanging wallpaper, shopping for furniture and rugs and curtains and all these little things that one doesn't realize are needed until one finds them missing. Hardly any time for themselves but each evening, they fall into bed, groggy and weirdly content. 

Sam blinks awake, slow to shake the tangles of sleep. He expects it to still be dark when he opens his eyes. Their sleep schedule is still all over the place; he tries to make them rise with the sun and go to bed before midnight, but that rarely ever flies with Dean. When he's engrossed in this new kind of work – in making this place their home – he doesn't stop until he can barely keep his eyes open, and only then does he sleep for a few hours before restlessness and nightmares drive him out of bed again. 

But today is different. The sun falls through the slits of the drawn shutters, bathes the room in a faded yellow light and throws a striped pattern of light and shadow across everything in it. Outside, the cheery chirping of a bird Sam can't identify overlays the sound of one of their neighbor's chatting at to someone, but the most prominent noise in here is Dean's breathing – heavy, just on the brink of snoring. It hitches every now and then, and Sam smiles as Dean burrows deeper into the pillow, nuzzles at it. Such a Dean thing to do, adorable as no grown man should have the right to be. 

Sam takes in the sight of him, surprised at himself that this wasn't the first thing he noticed. The room is already heated by the sun, and Dean has kicked off most of his blanket. He still clutches it to his chest, but his leg is thrown over the heap of it bundled up in front of him. He lies half on his chest, half on his side, the other leg stretched out behind him so much that his calf is touching Sam's, even though they're lying a few feet apart. All he wears is a pair of loose, threadbare old boxer briefs that used to be black but are now a washed out gray; they mold perfectly to the taunt muscles in his ass, accentuating more than they hide. 

And hey, that thought makes another part of Sam perk up. 

He leans forward, inches a little closer to his brother's body, and breathes a kiss to his neck. Dean groans, shuffles slightly to reach behind himself and swat at Sam's head. Not even halfway awake, he misses by a mile, and Sam chuckles. “C'mon, wake up. Broad daylight, way too late to still be asleep.” 

“Don't see ya bouncin' around the room either,” Dean grunts in reply, but he leans back and elongates his neck to give Sam better access. 

That's an invitation Sam can't refuse. He brings his lips to the skin beneath Dean's ear, licks and nibbles at his earlobe while he puts a hand on the shoulder he can reach and starts to massage it gently. Dean hisses at the first pressure, tries to roll away, but he relaxes into it quickly. For a little while, that's all Sam does; work the kinks out of his brother's muscles with his own forehead pressed to Dean's neck, his eyes closed. The chirping and chatter outside have stopped, nothing but silence now and the sounds they both make. He inhales Dean's scent, mixed with the heady smell of a small, warm room that's been slept in and hasn't yet been aired. Dean's skin is salty with the sweat that has begun to collect at his hairline; not much of it yet but it's there. 

Even though they've seen the real thing, Sam's pretty sure this is as close to heaven as they'll ever get; or, if they do get there in the end, he wants it to be like this. Indefinite late mornings with Dean close by his side, safe and at ease and filling all of Sam's senses. 

He works his way down Dean's spine next, stroking more than pressing, and he feels the muscles in Dean's back move under his hands as he shifts. Dean's chest is almost pressed flat to the mattress now, arms stretched out above him and wrapped around his pillow; the leg that's not touching Sam's is now bent up further so he can lay on his stomach without it being in the way. 

Sam debates whether or not he wants to get up and straddle him to turn this half-assed kneading into an actual massage, but he decides against it. Maybe later. For now he's got other plans. 

His hands dip underneath the waistband of Dean's boxers easily, the worn elastic band not much of a barrier to work past. Dean shivers as Sam lets his fingers slide between his cheeks, barely brushing past his hole, further down to rub at the spot behind his balls. Once, twice, then he takes his finger away to wet it with saliva to make things smoother when he gives more pressure. He keeps on until Dean's breathing speeds up, getting a little ragged, and only then does he move on to his balls, rolls them gently in the palm of his hand. 

They've got all the time in the world, here. Time for Sam to catalogue each sound, each movement, the tension in Dean's ass cheeks that probably means he tries to keep himself from rutting against the mattress to get himself some friction. To be teased like this while he lies on his stomach, full weight on his cock, is something Sam's sympathetic to. He withdraws his hand and puts it on Dean's flank, pulls at him until Dean gets that he's supposed to roll onto his side. Once he's done that, Sam pushes up close, chest pressed to Dean's back. He bites at Dean's earlobe to get his attention, eliciting a small noise of protest, and then whispers “lube” into his ear. 

Obediently, Dean reaches forward to produce the tube that they keep in a drawer of his nightstand, then leans back to hand it to Sam.

“No,” Sam says. “You do it.” 

Dean huffs, hesitates for a moment, but eventually Sam can hear him click the cap open and squeeze out some of the liquid. He feels him tilt his hips slightly to be able to reach behind himself and he draws back a little so he can watch Dean's finger push into and disappear out of his own body, soon joined by a second. 

The third one that goes in is Sam's, and Dean moans as he crooks it just so. It sounds louder in the otherwise quiet room, unabashed and guttural, and all of a sudden Sam can't wait any longer. He hasn't so much as touched himself, hard cock all but forgotten because he's been so wrapped up in Dean, but now he needs to feel that tight heat around it right the fuck now. 

Sam takes hold of Dean's wrist, and Dean takes the hint and withdraws. He rolls forward a bit to fish for the discarded tube of lube and hand it to Sam, alongside with a condom he seems to have grabbed as well when he first took it out of the nightstand, and Sam strips off his shorts and makes use of both. He positions himself – pressed up to Dean's back as closely as he can without loosing the angle, his arm slung around Dean's middle for leverage – and pushes in slowly. 

They stay like that for a moment, to give Dean time to adjust, and then Sam leans back so that he's got enough space to thrust in earnest. He hears more than sees it when Dean wraps a hand around his own cock, starts to stroke himself in synch with the rhythm that Sam's set. 

Dean is the first to go over the edge. His whole body tenses with it, ass clenching around Sam's cock, and as much as he might want to draw this out, have this not end ever, Sam can't keep his own orgasm at bay for long now. 

He flops onto his back, after, and Dean turns around to face him. 

“Good morning,” he says and grins. 

“Hey, you,” Sam replies, intelligently, and leans forward to kiss him, languidly and lazy. 

They don't part until Dean points out that he's still covered in cooling jizz, gaze aimed downward for emphasis, and announces that he's going to take a shower. “Wanna join me?” he asks with a wink, and that's not an offer he has to make twice.


End file.
